“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in Solkara,” the Weaver said. “Or at least on his way there.”

Shurik made a sour face. “It would be… awkward, if I were to go to Solkara just now.”

Dusaan nodded. “I agree. Start south in a few days, but stay out of the royal city. Once the funeral is over and the mourners begin to return to their homes, you may enter Solkara. That way you won’t embarrass your duke, and you may still be able to track him.”

“And if it turns out he hasn’t been to Solkara?”

Dusaan felt a muscle in his cheek begin to jump and was grateful the man couldn’t see his face. “If he’s not in Solkara, I can give you the name of a woman to follow. I have a feeling she might lead us to him.”

Solkara, Aneira

Fetnalla was already awake and dressed when she heard the knock at her door. It was early still-the sun had yet to rise, though the night had given way to the ghostly light of morning-but she had slept poorly. Any day now, Evanthya would reach the royal city, and the anticipation had begun to affect her sleep. Nevertheless, she was surprised to learn that others were awake as well, and more surprised still when she called through the door to ask who had come.

“It’s the archmimster.”

She and Pronjed had done their best to avoid each other for the past several days as preparations continued for Carden’s funeral. For him to come now to her quarters so early in the morning seemed strange indeed. What choice did she have, however, but to let him in?

Opening the door, she found him looking ill. He was sweating and his face looked ashen, even for a Qirsi. He appeared to be trembling, and he cradled his right hand against his chest as if it pained him greatly.

“Forgive me for disturbing you, First Minister,” he said, his voice weak. But I’m wondering if you’re a healer, or if there’s one in your company.“

“Of course, Archmimster,” she said, forgetting everything else as she helped him into her chamber. “I’m a healer.”

“Thank you,” he said, managing a smile.

She led him to a chair by the window and knelt before him, taking hold of his forearm and examining his hand. He winced as she turned the palm toward the light of a lamp resting on a nearby table.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head, but said nothing.

His hand looked terrible. The base of his thumb was swollen to nearly twice the size it should have been, and the entire thumb and much of the palm had turned a deep, angry shade of purple, like the color of storm clouds during the harvest. Clearly the bone had been broken, but what puzzled her was that it seemed to have occurred several hours before.

“What happened?” she asked.

He gave a small shrug, wincing again. “I fell while putting some wood on the fire in my quarters.”

“Just now?”

The minister looked at her briefly. “No, earlier. I awoke in the middle of the night to find my chambers had grown cold. I got up to put more wood in the hearth, but I tripped. I must have been a bit addled with sleep, and I simply went back to bed, not realizing how badly I had hurt myself.”

“Well, it looks to me as if you’ve broken the bone in several places.” She laid her other hand on his and closed her eyes. “Hold still. I’ll see what I can do to mend the bone.”

Probing his hand with her mind, Fetnalla found that there were three breaks in the bone. Fortunately, the fragments hadn’t moved much and setting the bone in his thumb was fairly easy. Still, the minister gasped at the pain and she feared for a moment that he would pass out.

When the bone pieces were in place, she drew upon her magic, allowing it to flow through her hands into his. At first all she sensed was warmth, as if her hands were a gentle fire. But after a time, she felt the bone beginning to heal and she smiled. As a minister in the court of Orvinti, she rarely had the opportunity to use her healing powers. It was, she realized, the magic she liked best.

“You’ve a deft touch, Minister,” Pronjed said. “It’s already feeling better.”

“Thank you. It will take some time still.”

They fell silent, the archminister seeming to relish the easing of his pain and Fetnalla concentrating on healing him. After some time, however, she started to feel that she should have been saying something.

“I’m surprised that you came to me,” she told him at last, opening her eyes for just a moment. Pronjed was staring at the hearth. Some of the color had returned to his narrow face.

“Are you?”

“I’d have thought that you’d go to one of the castle’s healers.”

“The castle has none.”

Again she opened her eyes. “None?”

“Carden never liked the idea of using magic to keep himself well. He welcomed Qirsi with other powers, those that could help him rule. But he allowed only Eandi surgeons to treat him and his family.”

“That may be why he’s dead now.” As soon as the words crossed her lips, she regretted them.

“What?”

“Forgive me, Archmimster. I only meant that perhaps a Qirsi healer could have found a way to help him.”

“Yes, of course,” Pronjed said, looking toward the fire again. “I’d considered that as well.”

They lapsed into another silence, and this time Fetnalla did nothing to break it. She still feared this man and though he hadn’t taken offense at her last remark, she might not be so fortunate with the next one.

The dawn bells rang in the city and a few moments later she heard footsteps in the corridor outside her chamber.

“That will be the day guards taking their places,” Pronjed said. His voice sounded stronger.

Fetnalla removed her hands from his and looked at the injured thumb. It was still discolored and swollen, but not nearly so much as it had been before. He moved it slowly and smiled.

“That’s much better,” he said. “Thank you, First Minister. You’ve done me a great service. I won’t forget it.”

“I’m happy to have been able to help, Archminister. I might be able to do more, perhaps bring down the swelling a bit further. Do you want me to try?”

He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. Time will do the rest.”

“Very well.”

Pronjed stood, as did the first minister.

“Next time, you might want to have one of your attendants see to the fire,” she said, smiling to soften the gibe.

“What? Oh yes, of course.” He smiled in return, though she could see that it was forced.

Once again, she feared that she had offended him.

The archminister stepped to the door, pausing with his hand resting on the door handle to turn and face her again.

“I’d prefer-” He stopped himself shaking his head. “It’s not important.”

“I won’t speak of this to anyone,” she said, as he started to turn away. “It’s not a healer’s place to talk of such things.”

He smiled again, and this time it seemed genuine. “Thank you again, First Minister. I believe the queen intends to speak with your duke later today. I’ll look forward to seeing you then.”

He opened the door and peered out into the hallway. Apparently seeing no one, he nodded to her once and left her chamber, pulling the door closed behind him.

Long after he was gone, Fetnalla continued to stare at the wooden door. Something about their conversation bothered her, though she couldn’t say what it was. His explanation of what happened to his hand had seemed perfectly logical at the time, but thinking back on it now, she couldn’t imagine how he could have slept with such an injury. It was almost as if-

Abruptly, the conversation she had with her duke about Carden’s death came back to her. She had speculated at the time that a Qirsi with delusion magic might have been able to make the king turn his blade on himself. And just now, the king’s archminister had convinced her of something that made little sense.